


Wind Chimes & Candles

by Brithna



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brithna/pseuds/Brithna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a response to a prompt by heartsassassin for the Poke the Dragon Comment Ficathon. Her prompt was ‘wind chimes and candles’. And I’ll go ahead and say it again – this prompt stuff scares the crap out of me so I’m really not sure why I’m torturing myself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind Chimes & Candles

Change littered the floor as they collided in the hallway, just in front of Miranda’s kitchen. Putting the Book on the table with the flowers stopped a long time ago. The current standard was for Andy to bring it into the den and set it by Miranda’s chair. Yet, now since they’d just collided, and change was scattering in all directions, the standard would probably go back to the way it used to be. At least there was no tripping hazard created by the mess. It wasn’t real _change_ after all; coins. It wasn’t a bunch quarters, nickels, dimes or even useless but shiny copper pennies. It wasn’t a physical thing that could be picked up and put back into pockets for safekeeping.

Miranda gave Andy a classically cold look as she disengaged herself from the tight grasp that had kept her from falling.

Andy gave Miranda a classically stunned but affectionate look as she let go and began to apologize for her usual clumsiness.

She almost apologized for all the change that had just been unleashed as well, but held her tongue. It would have been a stupid move, to comment on it one way or other. Miranda probably couldn’t see it. This was all in Andy’s head anyway. It always had been.

From the first time their shoulders brushed in the elevator, to this nearly disastrous collision, Andy had been walking down a strange road at a slow and glacial pace. That is, until a few months ago. Until Paris. Now it was more like a sprint she never tired of running and every obstacle that came across her path, Andy became an expert at scurrying around it to continue on at her best speed.

Miranda’s constant bad mood and unending supply of nasty insults.

Miranda’s divorce and dates with men that were nowhere close to being tolerable.

Miranda’s impeccable timing for a desire to have everything she wanted, yesterday.

Miranda’s ability to make her Andy feel like an idiot at almost every turn, sometimes unworthy of even drawing a single breath.

Andy managed to negotiate it all with ease, somehow, in her delusional state, never feeling threatened, much less defeated. After all, she honestly had no cause to. Miranda was technically a mystery instead of a real, physical being in her life—Andy’s real life, _not_ within the confines of a _job_ , but her _soul_.

Feeling threatened or defeated, at any point, was pointless.

No matter how cold the look on her face was, it was clear to Andy that Miranda was also aware of the change that had fallen around them, scattering in all sorts of impossible directions. Or, perhaps it was better to say—swept through the room, like the gentle and unexpected movement of air against wind chimes. Yes. That seemed better. Andy loved the sound of wind chimes.

Taking that into account, for better or worse, she fearlessly allowed her soul to stand there and watch until Miranda disappeared into the den. Even though she was walking away, it was a beautiful sight.

The next afternoon, Andy was still running her own little private race toward a real and physically present Miranda, when she noticed a faint bruise on the woman’s left forearm as they rode down to the lobby in the elevator. At first, it was a puzzle, but one that was quickly solved—a handprint, easily recognizable. It was Andy’s.

“I’m so sorry, Miranda.” Andy said, her voice was somewhere between a gasp and a cry.

Miranda looked down at the spot where Andy’s eyes were still glued; it was obvious she was well aware of its existence and had not bothered to cover it. Had she intended for Andy to see the bruise all along?

Looking up from her arm, Miranda dismissed the apology this time not with silence and a turned back, but with words. “Why?” She asked. “Otherwise, I would have fallen.”

“Yes… You would have fallen,” Andy said, regarding Miranda with a classically stunned but affectionate expression. “But I hurt you.”

Miranda shook her head and without the coldness she so often projected, “It’s not as if you meant to do so,” she said softly. “That makes all the difference. I don’t believe you are capable of hurting me in that way, Andrea.”

For a moment, Andy’s soul stopped running at a breakneck pace because Miranda was finally there with her; no longer hidden away. The elevator door opened seconds later and that feeling disappeared. Change had happened between them nonetheless. An unexpected movement had caused wind chimes to sound off in the slightest way once again.

The car ride was spent in silence, which was nothing new. Andy’s head, of course, was not silent at all and from the way Miranda kept fiddling with the handle of her bag, she could tell the woman’s thoughts were likely miles away instead of where they would normally be. Usually, on the way to a meeting with a new designer, Miranda’s mind was already going through the whole thing, a natural at anticipating their choices before she’d seen them. But today was different. Today it seemed Miranda would be truly surprised by whatever she saw in the next thirty minutes.

Jasper Trucco’s studio was impressive, to say the least. His designs might not turn out to be, but his workspace equaled the word. It was a popular thing these days, to renovate old warehouses into apartments and such, and this was a fine example of what had probably been a very expensive undertaking.

Large windows allowed sunlight to flood the entire area, fractured at times, causing a variety of colors to glide across the polished wood floor and the walls—even reaching the high, exposed ceiling in some spots.

Due to the sheer beauty of it, it was hard to concentrate on anything and a good thing Andy really wasn’t there to take notes. Come to think of it, why was she there? When it was time for taking notes and getting down to serious business, the entire team tagged along. This visit was more informal since it was his first meeting with Miranda and things were still so precarious. Her endorsement was far from a certain thing to count on at this point. Jasper had a lot to prove.

By the end, Andy couldn’t help herself and while Jasper worked at making a final attempt to flood Miranda with any last measure of hope, she wandered along the windows, appreciating the light and view as she went.

Andy had not intended to take so much time, or to become so caught up in the moment, but when she reached a window toward the far corner, it was an open window… and there was a wind chime of medium size, made of copper; cylinders of varying lengths dropped down from the base.

The reason she hadn’t heard it before was not only because of the large space and distance, but the wind was barely strong enough to cause a sound at all that day. Without thinking, Andy reached out and gently touched the thin sphere dangling below the cylinders and closed her eyes.

To save her life, Andy couldn’t have described the sound. It was too much for words and soft, touching so many different places, places in Andy’s soul that only Miranda had been able to unknowingly reach.

“You like this?”

Andy’s eyes snapped open and she whipped her head around. Miranda was standing right beside her, speaking as softly as the wind chime. Amazement filled Andy’s heart as she quickly realized Miranda was not angry due to her allowance for this simple object to have distracted her from the job at hand.

“I do,” Andy said with a small smile. “It sounds so beautiful… And I like the designs.” She touched the hollow cylinders to stop their movement, instantly missing the sound but intent on showing Miranda the leaves and butterflies etched into the weighted sphere below.

Miranda looked on with greater intensity than she had at any of Jasper Trucco’s sketches. Andy could easily guess what that probably meant for him, but really didn’t care. To have Miranda held down by something Andy enjoyed, to not be ridiculed or face punishment for it, meant the world to her.

“Perhaps, it is handmade.” Miranda remarked, still observing.

“Maybe,” was the only word Andy could give. Even though they’d stood shoulder to shoulder in elevators on countless occasions, Miranda, standing this close to her now seemed more intense. She was standing there with Andy by choice. She was essentially wasting time, looking at something Andy enjoyed, by choice. And Miranda Priestly never wasted time.

After a few more seconds, Miranda appeared to be done looking and Andy let go of the wind chime. The motion caused the soft sounds to return and the equally soft hum she heard come from Miranda melded with it perfectly.

“I’ve always enjoyed candles, myself.” Miranda shrugged and their shoulders brushed ever so slightly, just like they did in the elevator sometimes. “The crackling sound, candles with a wooden wick. I suppose I find it hypnotic.”

Andy had never seen one of those, not being overly interested in candles. But that could change, she decided, as they removed themselves from that space of solitude and went back into real life. A life were Miranda was a mystery and everything was just about a job.

Later that night, after delivering the Book to a silent, empty house—Miranda was out to dinner—Andy purchased a Miranda-Approved candle. Well, it was probably Miranda-Approved. She really didn’t know what scent the woman might prefer, but this one smelled of sugar and vanilla. Once Andy made it home, she immediately lit it, and Miranda wasn’t kidding. It was hypnotic, and letting the thing burn hour after hour would have been all too easy.

If only she had the wind chime to go along with it…

After a sleepless night, Andy arrived at Runway unusually early the next morning, with coffee and an armful of newspapers. Before she was even halfway to her desk, Andy noticed a box there, off to one side. It was rather long and beautifully wrapped.

A sliver of hope came to life inside her, thinking of wind chimes and Miranda…

Ironically enough that sliver of hope was rightly placed because it was both a wind chime, and Miranda. In fact, it was _the_ wind chime from Jasper Trucco’s studio. The exact same one. And the note accompanying the gift was _the_ Miranda that touched Andy’s soul.

It read: _I was right. It is handmade. Since that is the case, this wind chime no longer belongs to Jasper Trucco—but to you, Andrea. Without knowing it, you have prevented my fall on more than one occasion. A single bruise is happily endured in comparison. Without knowing it, you have instead caused much to change and such a small gift is hardly equal to all I wish to say, but perhaps it could be a beginning._

The race Andy had been running, toward something she never thought would be possible, stopped so abruptly that her handbag fell to the floor from its place on her shoulder. She’d put the coffee down already and the armful of newspapers, of course, but hardly took the time to bother with anything else. Not even her coat.

A small compartment in the front, where she always dropped her spare change, popped open, allowing quarters, nickels, dimes and even some useless but shiny copper pennies to spill onto the floor. What a mess…

Before Andy could bend down to pick it all up, Miranda appeared right beside her, meaning she’d been there all along.

Stating the very obvious, Miranda simply said, “You dropped your bag.”

Stating the very obvious, Andy simply said, “I know,” and kneeled to retrieve all the change and return it to its safe place. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You never disturb me, Andrea.” Miranda kneeled in front of her, surprisingly, to help. “I can’t imagine that you’re capable of disturbing me.”

Andy could feel her face heat up at Miranda’s words and wasn’t quite sure of what to say. Then she remembered the gift.

Forgetting about the change, Andy straightened. “Thank you for the wind chime, Miranda. Really… I like it very much.”

“I know you do. You said so yourself,” Miranda commented, still carrying on with the job of scooping up what remained on the floor.

Somehow that didn’t feel quite right. Andy wanted Miranda to understand how much it meant to her. She wanted Miranda to be real and present in her life…all hers, for as long as this time could last. If she let her, in the next second or two, Miranda could retreat back to her office and know nothing of what Andy felt. And today, that just wasn’t going to work.

Grabbing Miranda’s arm—incidentally, in the same spot as the bruise that was still visible—she forced the woman to face her and forget about all the change spread around them. If Miranda was brave enough to search for a place to begin, then Andy had to be just as brave.

“I know I said that. But you got it for me, Miranda,” Andy continued, loosening her grip. “That’s the difference. It makes it special, and I love it even more now. And you’re right. It _can_ be a beginning.”

“You read the note?” Miranda asked.

“Yes. Right away.”

“And then you dropped your bag?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling more affection for Miranda than she ever had before. “And now all my change is…well, everywhere.” Andy looked around them. God, she probably had no less than twenty dollars in coins.

Miranda looked around them too. “There’s enough here for a candle,” she said, laughing softly, in a way Andy had never heard. Like the wind chime...

“I already got one. Last night, after what you said.”

“Do you agree, then?” Miranda asked as she began to pick up the change again since Andy had released her somewhere along the way. “That it’s hypnotic?”

“It is,” Andy said, not joining in the continued retrieval of change just yet, preferring to watch and listen as Miranda touched her soul without even trying.

In the middle of Andy watching and listening, Miranda eventually finished the task all by herself and snapped the small compartment closed to keep everything safe. “That’s all of it, I believe.”

Even though that was all of it, it really wasn’t. Not hardly.

“Andrea, would you come by tonight?” Miranda asked as they both stood and Andy carefully put her bag away and her coat, too. It was difficult not to laugh at the question asked of her. She always came by Miranda’s house. It was her job. Every night. Probably sensing that exact comment headed her way, Miranda quickly clarified. “I meant—outside of work.”

“I could leave the Book on the table again…” Andy only half finished her sentence, remembering how she’d thought about that standard possibly changing _again_ just the other night, when they’d collided in the hallway of the townhouse.

“Yes,” Miranda agreed. “You could… And I have a lot of candles. Too many, probably. But I’ll light them all for you…so you can listen.”

They only had a few more minutes before the life of Runway would come down on their heads, and she wasn’t about to waste any of it. Coming closer, Andy fearlessly rested her arms around Miranda’s neck.

“Just a few,” she whispered against Miranda’s mouth. “Just light a few. So that I can see you, Miranda. I want to see you. More of you. All of you—“ Before she could keep on, Miranda captured her and held her tightly by the waist, silencing Andy’s words with her lips.

Later that night, after leaving the Book on the table with the flowers, Miranda lit only a few candles and put Andy’s wind chime in her own bedroom window. She captured Andy, once again, and held her even tighter than before; silencing them both with her lips, hands and anything else she wanted as all the sounds around them melded together into something that Andy could not describe.

The only thing absent was the sound of change falling to the floor. After all, there was a bed...

 

THE END

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know pennies aren't made of copper anymore. Save yourself the lecture. I don’t care. Love, Brithna---


End file.
